


With the passing of the seasons

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Baihu Genji Shimada, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Falling In Love, M/M, Music, Mutual Pining, Omnics, Oni Genji Shimada, Sanzang Zenyatta, Zhuge Liang Zenyatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Genji/Zenyatta* He thought he'd left his past behind, when he had joined Baihu as an advisor. He was wrong.





	With the passing of the seasons

**Author's Note:**

> belated bday gift for darling Nichi! Hope you like this despite the lack of smut ;-;

**With the passing of the seasons**

 

He is being followed.

He has seen him only at the edge of his vision, but it’s no trick of the light.

Every time he looks that way to try and catch whoever the shadowy figure is, all he sees is a mere glimpse, there only when he’s not focusing, gone when he does.

Whenever he walks down the long, well lit corridors of the castle, admiring the scenery outside the ample windows, something flashes past the foliage, an impression of darkness, and his footsteps hesitate, the tempo faltering before he composes himself again.

Whoever is following Zhuge Liang, counsellor and chancellor of the God on Earth Baihu, truly has no fear of retribution.

During the day, it happens less often –so little in fact that he almost relaxes, only to feel eyes on him during mealtime, as he waits for Baihu to eat, and he knows the stranger is still there –out there, watching.

At night is when the presence becomes more daring.

It comes closer, spies on him as he meditates alone in his room, slides near the window and presses one clawed hand on the glass –close enough that Zhuge knows that if he were to turn around, he would see him clearly, reveal his identity.

Whoever the mysterious presence is, they’re chased away when Lord Baihu enters his room, the presence vanishing from his senses like mist under the sun.

“You seem preoccupied,” Baihu murmurs, and there is a curious rumble in his throat, not quite a purr, that lets Zhuge know he does not appreciate his attention wavering from him. A greedy god.

“I have been studying,” he replies, tilts his head and welcomes his god.

They talk, and laugh, and when the music Baihu plays for him fills the room he calls his own, Zhuge allows himself, again, to forget about his stalker.

Yet, his presence lingers, follows him, hides in the darkest shadows of the trees outside his window, biding his time… Zhuge can feel the pressure on his soul, imposing and heavy, and he knows he cannot let it fester.

He bides his time and waits –he wonders if whoever is tailing him will reveal himself– but when he sees the first tell-tale signs on the faces of the dignitaries around him, irritated and upset without reason, he knows he has to be the one to approach first.

It seems his past is not as forgotten as he’d expected it to be.

“I think today I will take a walk in the gardens,” he says in the early morning, sitting at Baihu’s side.

He has been building the palace defenses with his consultants while Zhuge observed his actions, idly penning down a missive to send to the neighbouring lands, but he takes the chance when the conversation falls into a lull.

Baihu, startled, looks at him.

He is not wearing his mask –those surrounding him are all trusted, and Zhuge is one of those– and his eyes sparkle with curiosity and a weird flicker of longing. Zhuge understands, as both have been coped up inside for so long that a walk would be heavenly. Too bad that Baihu has a lot to do that he cannot postpone… and that is why Zhuge has asked now.

“Alone?” Baihu asks, with a crease of his forehead.

“I will be safe,” he answers, and his tone, together with a hint of Harmony that blossoms around Baihu, allows him to get what he wants.

***

The woods are beautiful, with the soft rays of sun peeking from the verdant foliage above his head, and Zhuge advances down a path of stones and soil without a care in the world, riding the horse Baihu offered him before he left –it is his personal horse, an animal who only ever allowed Baihu to ride him, and Zhuge is moved at that, at the trust and worry Baihu always has for him. It is almost bittersweet, with how sweetly Zhuge yearns for more than this simple care.

Yet, it is a match that cannot exist, not when Baihu is a god, and Zhuge is…

The leaves above his head rustle, and his senses, sharply attuned to the world around him, bring him a wave of discord, thick and heavy, like tar on a tongue he does not have. “You have been a persistent hunter,” he comments, optical receptors not straying from the path in front of him. “Were you waiting for your prey to seek you out?”

There is no answer, but something shifts as Zhuge stops the horse and dismounts it, and then a figure appears right in front of him. The horse, big as it is, creature born to carry the weight of a god, raises on its hind legs, scared, and whinnies loudly, so Zhuge presses his palm against its side. Liquid Harmony flows through the horse, calming it instantly.

In front of him, the figure stands, tall and proud. It is dressed in black and grey, a light armour covering his frame, and on his face a mask –a crude image of a demon with red eyes on white bone skin, red horns and red and black paint and curved fangs.

The aura he exudes is one of danger –raw power, the kind that once would have been called otherworldly, but… there is something more to him that Zhuge cannot understand yet. How did he track him down?

“I wondered how long it would take to lure you out. Any longer, and I would have gladly taken over some of the less… shielded souls inside your palace.” The voice is low and thick and somewhat familiar, and Zhuge tilts his head to the side, pensive, as he makes a show of stroking his beard. “What a nice cover you’ve built for yourself –almost fitting, for you.”

“How did you find me? I have covered my traces well.” Zhuge remains calm, and links his hands in front of his chest in a familiar, grounding gesture.

“Yes. I see you even hid your… orbs away. Smart.” The tone is almost teasing, but there is darkness bubbling under the surface. Desire. Anger. “It doesn’t matter –I would have found you anyway. I can feel your aura like a beacon, calling for me. Screaming for me to come to you and have a taste, and I could never deny myself the chance to savour a meal such as yourself… _Sanzang_.”

He spits out the name with equal parts spite and hunger, but Zhuge does not react to it, though there is a small pang in his core. “It has been a while since I’ve last heard that name,” he says. It is no more his name as Zhuge Liang is, but one day, even his current one will be no more. Time has since lost his original name within its folds, and any other after that is only the will of the Iris.

“If you want it to remain that way, perhaps you should consider… an agreement.”

“You wish me to sign a contract with the devil?” Zhuge says, amused.

A bitter laugh. “You have little choice in the matter, _Zhuge_. I know who you are, and were the truth exposed to the eyes of your god, your presence here would not be as… welcomed as Zhuge Liang has been. I’m simply offering you the chance to keep it that way.”

“Do you not wish to… feast upon me, then?”

“I do, but it would be such a waste, to have you once and never again.” Zhuge can hear the desire in the oni’s aura, feels its intoxicating darkness wrap around his mind like a blanket, calling for him. But… that part of his past is no more. He has a new mission now, one he cannot stray from.

Yet…

“How could I trust the word of a demon?” he asks.

Again, laughter is his answer.

“You cannot –but you will have to. I do not wish to deprive myself of the strength your aura gives off. Even now, I can barely restrain myself, so close…” he takes a deep breath, loud and clear, voice rough and low. “Is it not worth it, Sanzang? Your life, your secret… for a little meal?”

Zhuge exhales a sigh. “It looks like I have no other choice now, do I?” he remains calm, tests the aura around the oni with delicate touches of his own senses, and hums. “I would like to know the name of the one I am supposed to share my energy with, though.”

The oni stiffens, body language clipped. The silence that stretches after that is long, and tense, and Zhuge wonders if he will get an answer at all…

“Call me Oni,” he grunts, closed off, and there is a lick of pain in the aura around him which makes Zhuge know the subject is more painful than it appears.

“Oni, then. How do you want me?” he unfolds his arms, shows the demon himself, and is amused when Oni falters again.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, and then he accosts Zhuge, his bulkier frame almost imposing over him, the aura surrounding him stretching towards Zhuge, wrapping itself around him. “All that I care for is to feed on you.”

Zhuge hums, amused, unconvinced, and then allows his restrained aura to trickle free from within his body, meshes it with Oni as his big, strong arms wrap around his shoulders, tugging him closer, watches as Oni breathes and unlatches the mask on his face, only revealing his mouth and the longer, sharp fangs… but this close, Zhuge can see a trace of old scars marring the skin where it disappears under the mask.

Then, lips press down against his bared neck. There is no skin to puncture, but no need for that either, as Oni feeds directly from his aura, and drinks, and drinks, and Zhuge feels the intimate connection as his energy is slowly drained from him.

And most of all, he feels the aura surrounding Oni flicker, and vibrate, and latch on his own like its starving.

Zhuge closes his optical receptors, and allows Oni to feed from him.

***

“You seem… distracted.” Baihu attempts to keep his tone even and diplomatic, but it is not a successful.

Zhuge glances up at him from the Xiangqi board, and offers him a flicker of his optical receptors as a smile. “Am I?”

“Well, uh…” Baihu looks down at the board, where Zhuge’s army is forcing his own into a retreat, and winces, licking his lips. “Alright, not quite distracted, but…” he wants to be delicate, but it is not one of his best traits. “… tired,” he concludes.

Zhuge concedes the point with a small nod and a careful, constructed caress of his beard. “I have perhaps spent a few nights reading, rather than resting. I have had little time to relax, during the day.” A small lie, but he can’t very well admit his lacklustre attitude is because of the energy he allows an oni to have from him.

“I see.” Baihu’s tone softens, and he leans forwards, one hand reaching out, halting as he’s half across the game board and then lowering to offer a gentle pressure on Zhuge’s arm. “Is that why you have started walking in the gardens every few days? If… if you wish for company, I would gladly join you.”

Zhuge does not open himself to feel Baihu –the god’s emotions are not so easily perceived, not even by him, but his core aches to feel that hand caress his face plate, for that care Baihu so clumsily offers him to mean more than it does, yet he cannot brings himself to truly hope for it, not when Baihu is destined for something bigger. All he can accept, all he can wish for, is to be by his side as a support for as long as he’s allowed to.

“Thank you, Baihu, maybe one day we will walk together and admire the beauty of the trees, but… for now I prefer the time spent by myself.”

He watches as Baihu’s face twitches, lips curling down in a displeased, hurt frown, and the hand almost retreats before it clenches around his arm, steady. “I respect it, but the offer is always on the table for you, my advisor.”

Zhuge nods, dares to put his own hand on top of Baihu’s gloved one, just for a second. The warmth is pleasant, but he doesn’t allow himself to enjoy it for too long. He has a game to end, and a meeting in the forest right after that.

***

There is more hunger in Oni’s aura, like a never-ending thirst that he can barely calm down by feeding on Zhuge’s aura, but there is something else Zhuge can feel now, something deep and seated and filled with turmoil.

It’s disquiet, sadness, regret, anger –all of them wrapped together, so tightly he is not sure he could ever begin to unravel them, yet it makes him want to try still. The Discord reminds him of that part of his past life that in a way he misses.

He’s used to reading people and wanting to help them –it’s his nature, something the Iris saw in him when he was picked, so many years ago– but it’s different, now. He should not indulge when he has another goal now, when his help is needed elsewhere, and yet…

And yet, Oni himself is different.

The soul within him writhes in anger but mostly in pain, sold itself to the demon until little else was left, attracts Zhuge in a way that is familiar yet not, but the more Zhuge digs in as Oni feeds on him, the more despair he finds, and he cannot… he can’t let this continue.

“Where did you come from?” he asks one day, and then another “how long have you been searching?”

And then another day, “what sights have you seen on your way here?” and later “do you remember how it feels to remove the mask from your face?” and “do you enjoy the gardens around the palace?”

Small, idle questions, which Oni refuses to answer at first, then slowly caves in, snarky and distant at first, hesitant after days and weeks of being addressed so calmly, and… it feels like he is hungry for more than just Zhuge’s aura. He aches for contact, for… words. Company. Attention.

His brash side resurfaces if Zhuge hits a bump he does not know how to address, his words aggressive, petulant, smug with the way he teases Zhuge about their pact, how he lords control over ‘Sanzang’… and yet.

Yet.

Oni craves so much, and Zhuge can give, and feels no trouble in doing so.

Months pass by, and Oni’s angry aura seems to quieten when he is around Zhuge, soothed by the constant stream of Harmony he receives twice, three times a week.

“Were you lonely, before?” he dares to ask one day, and Oni, lips pressed into his neck, hesitates before biting down hard on the metal plates, scraping at them. His hand, previously only holding on Zhuge’s waist, tightens around him, possessively.

“No,” he lies, his aura so dark Zhuge feels lightheaded.

“Do you not enjoy my company, the stories and news I bring to you, together with the energy you want so badly?”

Silence meets his question, the stiffening of Oni even as he presses harder against him, a mimicry of closeness that he tries to hard to keep impersonal, when every meeting they are drawn further to one another. Zhuge’s forehead array flickers in a smile.

“So if I were to rescind our agreement, you would leave without considering the option to stay…?”

He feels the spike of fury so keenly its intoxicating, he wants to dig into it and rip through it even as Oni reacts, pushes him down on the ground so hard Zhuge’s servos ache, the hat falling off his head and on the grass, hair scattering around him like a halo.

A hand tightens around his throat, claws toying with the delicate wires at the base, and he looks up at Oni sitting on his chest, the dark aura around him so heavy its suffocating.

“You would not,” Oni hisses, and Zhuge feels the complex mix of panic and smugness in him. “You would not survive such a decision, _Sanzang_ –”

It takes him nothing to twist them around, use Oni’s strength against him. With Oni underneath him, pressed into the grass, arms pinned by his own hands, Zhuge has time to look down at him, the aura around them now bleeding shock and panic, the smugness gone.

“Do not think for a moment that my acceptance of our pact was forced upon me, Oni,” he murmurs. He keeps his voice gentle, kind, for he has no malice for this demon. None at all. “I could break it and subdue you without a second thought, if so I wished. You do not hold any power upon me.”

Oni sputters under his mask, tries to move and cannot, and this only sends him spiralling down into panic. Above him Zhuge’s silhouette blurs with the sun behind his back, long hair and beard framing his faceplate.

With a soft hum, Zhuge opens himself up further, and Harmony flows onto Oni like a river, gently wrapping around him, soothing some of his dark aura until Oni chokes and whines at the energy he’s receiving, scared yet enticed at the way his entire being craves and seeks the clean, pure golden light.

After what feels like forever, Zhuge closes himself, cuts the gentle stream, but does not stand up, sitting on Oni’s chest as he pants and heaves, trembling, body straining with the sudden, unexpected energy boost.

“Why?!” Oni bites out, and it comes as much as a plea as it is a demand.

“Because just as much as you wish for my cleansing aura, I wish to soothe your discordant soul.” He lets go of one of the wrists, and dares to lean down, fingers pressed against the smooth curve of the demon’s mask. The touch startles him but Oni does not move, overwhelmed, shaking. “Within you, something screams in pain, and I wish to answer that plea.”

He does not mention the feeling of familiarity, because he, himself, has yet to understand that.

Abandoned against the grass, Oni closes his eyes and grits his teeth, but even his anger is dull when faced with the soul of Zhuge –of Sanzang– and Oni feels something deep within him shift.

***

The room is dark, with only a few lit candles in it.

Zhuge remains on the door, one hand delicately placed on the frame, and looks inside, to the sight of Baihu sitting near the window, looking outside while his fingers idly move on the guqin on his lap, plucking the strings with his right hand, pressing with his left, the melody filling the room with sweet, melancholic notes.

Behind him, the window offers Zhuge the sight of the forest surrounding the palace, trees turned red by the incoming autumn, bright against the afternoon sky.

No mask on his face, framed by the crimson and orange leaves, Baihu looks… ethereal.

The sight is so beautiful is sends an ache through Zhuge’s core and he watches, transfixed, as the red and gold of the autumnal leaves outside of the window rustle in the background, warming him just as much as the beauty of Baihu and his music do.

A year and a half since he’s arrived at the castle, becoming Baihu’s trusted confidant, his aid, and Zhuge’s feelings have only grown, like roots in fertile terrain, blossoming with strength that surprises even him.

He wishes to move, to step into the room and sit by Baihu’s side, he wishes to be part of this perfect sight, to allow this god to play with him as much as he’s playing with his instrument.

Zhuge does not enter. He watches, admires from afar a being that owns his very soul, and aches with this knowledge, with the bittersweet desire to be cared for as more than just an adviser, or a friend, wishes for lips he cannot have, for hands on his body he can only wish for, for a voice to call his name while in the throes of passion that only exists within his dreams.

The ache is strong, but his feelings are soothed nonetheless –he has this moment, this _now_ , and he’s long since learned to take all he can and enjoy it.

Zhuge closes his optical receptors, lulled into peace by the song Baihu is playing, and does not notice the glance the god sends his way, the way his lips tremble, the way his music shifts to match his feelings, and when Zhuge looks up once again, Baihu’s face is calm, poised and has his own eyes closed, focused on the sweet, gentle tune of a man desperate to have his love returned, following petals down a river at dawn.

Swept away by the music, Zhuge observes the leaves of the tree outside the window, and is the only one to notice the figure perched there, observing Baihu, observing Zhuge himself, hidden behind a scary mask.

Oni tilts his head, and offers him a small wave as salute, then disappears with no trace.

Six months since Oni has appeared, stealing half of Zhuge’s attention without meaning to, and he finds himself uncertain about the direction of his life.

Core swollen, Zhuge sighs deep in his synth. Autumn is a delicate balance of beauty, but does not belong to him, yet Winter is approaching fast, cold arms open wide.

He turns around, lingering to listen to Baihu’s song progressing to its end, then leaves, footsteps bringing him out of the palace and into the gardens, where someone is waiting for him.

Eyes follow him as he leaves, and the music falls into silence.

***

“You should stop.”

Zhuge makes a small, questioning sound, and looks up.

He is sitting underneath a tree, its leaves scattered around him after he’s walked on them, listening to the satisfying crunch his feet make over them. Zhuge’s mind still lingers on the music Baihu played just earlier, and it makes him feel light on his feet as he dances on the leaves before sitting down on them.

Autumn has always been beautiful, for him, and now even more so, when it reminds him of…

“Stop what? Sitting?” he teases, and Oni scoffs.

In the six months since their agreement, something has shifted between them. The conversation flows, albeit slowly, gruff attitude in place of disguised distaste, annoyance and mistrust gone in favour of banter as they sit close together.

Oni seems to enjoy his company, seeking him out even when they do not meet.

Six months, yet Zhuge feels like he’s barely started understanding the mystery underneath the painted mask of Oni, though he feels the limits of his soul press against his awareness, no more vague now, defined by the Harmony the demon feeds on.

“Hoping,” Oni says, and his tone is… angry. Zhuge opens himself, his senses keen, and finds a disconcerting pain there, like rejection, but deeper.

“Hope is hard to eradicate, harder still when the person wishes for it with all their might,” he answers, tone amused even when he is confused about the subject.

It becomes clear only a moment later, when Oni moves closer, grabs his wrist and tugs Zhuge closer, until they’re face to face, inches apart.

“Hoping to save this wreck of a soul I own, _Sanzang_.” It has been so long since Oni has called him such, and the dissonance grows stronger within him, together with the building realisation that Oni is angry, but he does not know why. “Give up. There is nothing in here to savage, there is only a demon.”

“A demon who has not harmed me, or anyone at the palace, a demon who returns my words with equal fervour, a demon who longs for company.”

“A demon who only wishes to feed on you.” Gritted teeth under the mask, Oni clenches his hold on Zhuge’s wrist, enough that he almost feels the creak of metal. “You have delusions that cannot be met. Did you not say you had a new mission, monk?”

Zhuge shakes his head, not sure he understands the sudden anger, the sudden fear he feels, so he probes with his senses, pushes past that, and feels Oni push back, trying to deny him entrance, and gently bats him away, to find–

“Oh, Oni.” Zhuge feels his core flutter, feels a familiar ache take over him in realisation, and lifts his other hand to Oni’s mask, only to have that caught as well, and Oni pushes him back into the tree behind him, hands at the sides of his head.

“That is not my name,” Oni hisses.

“You did not tell me your name.”

“I do _not_ have one.”

Zhuge feels the painful truth of it –that Oni does not remember, just like he does not know where he comes from, or who he was, or how he was created. He remembers none of it, and the knowledge is like a thorn, spearing him, holding him down.

Six months, and he still hurts, he suffers so much, feels jealous and envious of Baihu for having Zhuge’s attention, for having a name, a meaning, a life, whereas he hides, feeds on Zhuge and barely lives, constantly starving, constantly lost–

“You are not alone,” he says.

“I should be. And you should return your attention to him.” Words spit out with bitterness. “Else I take more than you can give, and ruin you.”

“I told you once, months ago, that you would never be able to take what I do not wish to give.” Gentle, kind, both of his arms still trapped in Oni’s grip, Zhuge tilts his head forwards, bumps their foreheads together. “All I’ve given you was freely offered. I see you. Your company is wanted. You are not forsaken, Oni.”

And he knows that his words might not be enough –not when the darkness of Oni’s mind is part of him, part of what makes him exist.

He has to go deeper, but has refused, so far, afraid of allowing himself this when he has duties, when at the palace someone is waiting for him, but…

“I found you once,” he murmurs, forehead array brightening, his core growing heavy as he calls forth the power he’s been allowed to have, “I will find you again.”

He opens himself fully, wraps his Harmony around Oni even as he rages and roars, digs deeper, past the layers of pain. He’s never allowed himself this –it is not his mission anymore, he has been given another, but how can he continue to be Zhuge when there is a soul he can touch that needs healing? How can he not help someone he’s grown to care so much for?

Oni needs this, with every little nudge and attempt to get closer only to push him back, and Zhuge craves for it with the same intensity he craves for Baihu’s attention, for Zhuge feels with his whole soul, bears his emotions on his sleeves where they can be felt and seen by all, wraps himself in disguises that only make his love clearer, but in the end, at his innermost core, Zhuge, Sanzang, any name he’s taken in the past all bring him back to one, his start and end, the birth of his work for the Iris, and that is–

“No!” Oni fights, almost sobs under the assault of the warm, gentle light, so strong he’s bathed in its fierce power, stronger than Zhuge has ever attempted to use with him, stronger than he can take, pushing through him, past him, deeper, seeking–

Zhuge slips and lets his consciousness fall deeper. He reaches out, spirit and soul and mind, and drowns in the deep, black discord that is Oni’s soul. He lets himself go –a risky move, dangerous, uncaring– because there is no other choice.

He cares, and perhaps, his care for Oni is one to rival his care for–

_“Foolish.”_

Oni’s voice echoes all around him, and he ignores it, searches deeper, plunges down into the nothingness, fights the heavy darkness surrounding him and trying to eat at him, fights it with golden light and warmth.

_“Go away!”_

Ignored again, even as he tires –it might be impossible, but he has to find it, he has to, somewhere deep, somewhere…

Deeper he goes, and even Oni’s voice fades. Silence takes over, and pain, and despair, and darkness.

It is heavy around him, suffocating, pressing down on every side, Zhuge’s consciousness wavers. There is no light, except the one he has inside himself, and even that is faint in such darkness.

Yet he perseveres, because if he does not, he will lose a soul, and never in his life has he willingly allowed someone’s soul to be lost, not, never, he will not start now–

A flash of red through his optical receptors, familiar yet foreign, corrupted and weird, and he latches onto it with his spirit, clings and tugs as his mind wavers, the darkness creeping upon him, but he refuses, he’s _close_ …

Heat explodes inside him, burning its way through, as painful as flames, liquid fire, and he almost lets go

But he clutches onto the tiny, little fragment, wraps himself around it, holds onto it when the world around him fragments into a darkness even deeper…

Something flickers within the red, and Zhuge feels–

Through the pain, as his mind finally shuts down, he holds onto that tiny, faded fragment, and he whispers a single word out into the darkness as it claims him, victorious even as he shuts down–

“ _Genji_.”

***

He wakes to a familiar ceiling.

It is dark, and there is a lone candle somewhere nearby, casting trembling shadows on the wall at his left, and Zhuge hums, feeling confused and exhausted.

This is not his room, it is…

“You are awake,” a voice murmurs from his right, and he gathers enough energy to tilt his head, finding Baihu sitting by him.

He has no mask, and his expression is a blank slate. Zhuge’s energies are so low his senses are open and raw, but he feels nothing coming from Baihu, and the realisation is… almost scary.

“Why am I in your rooms, Baihu?” his voice shakes only a little, his synth cracking with lack of use, and he wonders how long he’s slept.

He wonders what has happened. In the back of his mind, something screams for him to pay attention, but his thoughts are unfocused, lethargic. He is far too tired.

“I could not bear to have you elsewhere,” Baihu replies, smooth as silk. “Not once you were found in the forest, depleted of energy, almost catatonic.”

The words jolt Zhuge’s memory, and suddenly he remembers –Oni, his anger, his jealousy, and Zhuge’s desire to help, reaching deeper than he’d ever been, searching, seeking…

Baihu seems to understand by the sudden stillness, because he smiles without mirth. “Dangerous thing you did, Zhuge. We thought we’d lost you, if not…” and there –there is a ripple on his face, the tremble of his upper lip, barely there.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he murmurs.

He has no explanation he can freely give, nothing to say that would make the truth easier for him to listen to, nothing.

Baihu doesn’t answer, but his hands close into fists on his lap.

Instead of bringing attention to his carefully constructed façade of calm, Zhuge asks something else. “What did you do to him?”

There is no need to hide, not anymore. Oni’s presence was surely discovered, and…

Baihu’s shoulders fall, just a little. He looks to the side, and Zhuge is surprised to see him retrieve his guqin from the ground, bringing it to his lap. The instrument is big, and carefully carved with leaves and animals –tigers and dragons– but Zhuge does not understand, though his mind falls into grief at the lack of an answer.

Oni… has he been…

No, not Oni, his mind flutters like butterflies in a small cage. Genji.

That was his name, once upon a time. _Genji_.

Has Genji been–

“Once upon a time…”

Baihu’s voice penetrates through the haze that has surrounded Zhuge’s soul, and with that, the soft sound of the guqin as Baihu plucks at the strings, melody deep and penetrating, the notes low.

“Once upon a time,” Baihu repeats, once he’s sure Zhuge’s attention is back on him, “there was a young man. He was part of a big, ancient family. He lived happily, not thinking about his own future, his own present, playing with every day like a kid would with a toy. He cared nothing for his family’s name, as his family was dark, and he wanted to turn his back to them despite not having the strength to truly leave them behind.”

Zhuge, still resting in Baihu’s bed, does not understand, but the way Baihu’s voice softens as he tells the story in rhythm with the song he’s playing, catch his attention and he cannot look away.

“His family did not appreciate, and one day… they sent his brother to dispose of him.” The music cuts short with a strident, sharp note, and Zhuge’s core falters at the unexpected silence, before Baihu picks up, the tune a tone higher now, brisk. “Screaming, the young man went down, crying, and was left for dead as he dragged himself into a river and fell in. He did not drown –fates had picked a different path for him to travel. His body, feverish between death and life, was found by the monks of a distant temple, and his life was spared and saved. In thanks, he devoted his life to the gods, seeking to make a new life for himself as he’d been forsaken in the previous one.”

The music slows down again, gentler, soothing.

“And then, when danger and war came to them, he was offered a choice. His family had harboured spirits within its members, and despite everything, his blood was still his own. He was asked if he wished to leave everything behind, and ascend to become something else –something bigger, where he could help balance like the spirit he shared souls with had in a past long gone. The young man, honoured as he was, could not refuse.”

Again, there is a crescendo in the tone of his music, the notes sharp before again they fade into silence.

Enraptured, Zhuge can’t say a word, and only listen.

“Yet, to be able to let go of his mortality, the young man had to leave behind whatever negative emotions he had, the hatred he still harboured for his family, the distrust, the sadness at having been left behind, forgotten and unwanted. He cast them away with no regrets, and with them, the memories of his past life, his name, his self.”

Baihu looks up, and meets Zhuge’s optical receptors with his own eyes, and Zhuge feels a flicker of something –affection, care…

“He became a god, among others, to bring peace to this world. He forgot about his anger, but the anger was not gone.”

And another voice, from the darkness of the room behind Baihu, picks up the story, startling Zhuge enough that he makes a curt, aborted motion, arching his neck to look, as the familiar voice, rougher –and so similar to Baihu, how he’d never noticed, how– reaches for him, softer now than it has ever been before.

“The anger had to be given shape, for nothing is gained without balance, and the anger coalesced into a being, born without being birthed, without a name, without a purpose except exist and fester.” Oni steps forwards, the candlelight flickering on his unmasked face.

For the first time since they had met, Zhuge sees his face, naked and covered with scars, and he finds it mirrored into Baihu’s one, though their eyes are different –a pair as red as molten lava, the other blue like the sky.

“And fester it did, furious and hurt without knowing why, seeking something to soothe the pain.” Oni’s lips thin in a mirthless smirk as he advances towards the bed Zhuge lays on, falling on his knees at his side.

Zhuge’s hand lifts slowly, the movement taking more strength than he has, and Oni grasps it in one of his own gloved ones, eyes warm, empty grin softening into something gentler.

“Until I found you.” He brings Zhuge’s hand to his lips, and kisses it. “Until you fought for me, and gave me back what I was missing, piece by piece.”

Zhuge finally finds his voice again. “Genji,” he murmurs, and the word hangs in the air between the three of them like an echo of power.

“Yes,” Oni says, and he glances over at Baihu. “The backlash of your attempt was felt by any being strong enough to feel it at the palace and its surroundings. They came only to find you unconscious, and I… incapacitated. It is a miracle I was not slain the moment I was seen in your company. Your god’s mercy was what saved me, and even then… barely. Until we were face to face. And then… we remembered.”

Zhuge trembles at the thought, at the fear that almost became reality.

“That is…” his voice shakes, his synth cracks, and Zhuge turns his head away from them, overwhelmed. “A relief.”

Something has lodged itself deeply within his chest, something heavy and painful, and Zhuge realises, idly, that it is regret.

He has been found out. The mission the Iris gave him is compromised, and he probably broke whatever trust had existed between himself and Baihu, even if in the end his actions were enough to discover a lost link –a link he barely believes exists, even when faced with the truth of it.

Wishful, to think he has a future, here.

He has failed the Iris out of his own selfishness, and now… what is left of it all?

“I am… grateful,” he says, and remains facing the wall, even when he feels Oni’s hand around his own. “To see you unharmed, Oni. And also for the chance to rest before I have to depart.”

“Why do you want to leave?”

Zhuge’s voice is quiet, mournful, as he confesses about the Iris, about Sanzang, and the other names he’s taken in the past, and how all he’s wanted was to be at Baihu’s side now, and then… Oni arrived, and–

“And where would you go?” Baihu’s tone remains even and measured, but there is steel behind his words.

“I do not know, but…” _‘somewhere far, where I do not have to face my failures. Where I can repent,’_ he thinks.

“Then why not stay?”

Startled, Zhuge snaps his head around to stare at Baihu in shock.

“I thought I had lost you, Zhuge.” Baihu shakes his head, and he plucks the wrong string –a discordant note jars through Zhuge’s sensors. “Without even the chance to tell you… I thought you were _lost_ to me. It is not something I wish to go through again. Do not make me –I am not strong enough.”

And there –the emotions rush through Zhuge like a river, and in his weakened state, he can only _feel_ them, and the fierce intensity has him _aching_.

“I do… I do not…” he tries, and his voice is hushed, thick.

Oni chuckles, and the sound is warm. “Is it surprising? You are a beacon, how could we ever not follow its lead to you? How could we not _fall_ for you, when we share one soul?”

Baihu’s fingers stop plucking and pushing the strings, and they’re shaking as he places the guqin down on the floor again, but then he stands, tall above them, and mimics Oni’s posture as he falls next to him on his knees, fingers caressing the side of Zhuge’s faceplate.

“You have given me back something I had never thought I was missing.” His voice shakes a little. “A name I had forgotten, yet a name that made me who I am now. And now I learn you have a name I have never known before, a name that hasn’t been spoken in so long. Zhuge, Sanzang–” and Zhuge shakes at that name on Baihu’s lips, spoken softly, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed, “will you stay with me, if I promise to call you with that name? Will you stay, forever, with me? With us?” Oni’s grip on his hand tightens, possessive, hungry.

Shaky, Zhuge closes his optical receptors and feels his core ache in a way he cannot explain.

Baihu is giving him what he’s wanted for so long, and now he has no need to choose, no need to hurt knowing he cannot have it.

He’s been offered it freely.

And Oni… purified, cured of his darkness, is alive, and…

 “Am I allowed?” he whispers, his hands shaking slightly.

“Please,” Baihu says.

“Yes,” Oni breathes out.

Zhuge remains silent for a long stretch, his forehead array burning slowly, then he exhales a long, weary artificial breath.

“Zenyatta,” he says, softly, speaking a name that has not been uttered in so long he’s almost forgotten himself.

Baihu leans closer, until he’s Zhuge’s entire world, and presses a soft kiss on the seam of his mouthpiece, and tugs his beard gently.

“Zenyatta,” he says, reverently.

“Zenyatta,” Oni nods, and his lips stretch in a satisfied smirk as he presses them onto Zhuge’s hand that he’s still holding.

And despite his worries and his tired body, Zhuge feels like he’s floating.

The rest, he can take one season at a time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope it was enjoyable!
> 
> Xiangqi - a chinese board game where to win you have to defeat the enemy's army.  
> Guqin - an ancient chinese instrument with strings.  
> The white tiger Baihu's figure has been linked with fire and with the autumn season, which i vaguely hinted at during this fanfic. (whereas oni, despite being a figure of fire and hatred, is winter, because there is nothing warm within him, just cold, seething anger).


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